


On The Edge

by killingg_eve



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: :), F/F, NSFW, Tribbing, this is rotten and unholy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:20:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27870673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killingg_eve/pseuds/killingg_eve
Summary: NSFW - This takes place sometime after 3x03.--I found a tumblr blog where the user posts occasional links to good (actually good) p*rn. And she posted a link to a tribbing video! That was actually not male-centered and strange!! And I just about died. SO ANYWAY...
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Comments: 12
Kudos: 133





	On The Edge

**Author's Note:**

> Your comments give me life.   
> Thank you so much to those who consistently read my works and leave nice comments. I can't tell you how much it means. The ~s e r o t o n i n~ ... <3

Villanelle opens the door to Eve’s apartment. She peers around the corner and sees Eve laying in her bed, leaning on her elbow while watching something on the television.

“Eve?” she says, loudly, and then she closes the door behind her.

Eve just startles a little bit and pulls herself upright. She still wears her cardigan from the workday. Her hair is still down.

“Why did you call me?” _No—_ Villanelle clarifies, “Why did you hang up? What did you want?”

Eve had called her and let it ring, but the moment she heard Villanelle’s low, all-knowing, “Hello, _Eve_ ,” she ended the call and threw her phone onto the end of her bed.

“I—I’m sorry,” Eve breathes, her cheeks unexpectedly flushed. “I was going to ask if you were around . . . I wanted to invite you . . .” she trails off.

“Where?” Villanelle asks. None of Eve’s words make sense.

“Here. To invite you here,” Eve says.

Villanelle takes a few steps into the space, since she knows Eve intended to have her over. “You are inviting me to your apartment at 10:00 on a Tuesday?” She smirks. “That’s a little cheeky, Eve,” she teases.

And Eve doesn’t argue, doesn’t defend her actions, doesn’t care to comment on whether it’s _cheeky_ or not. She is too tired for that. Instead, she throws the her duvet off of her lap and unbuttons her trousers and keeps Villanelle’s eye contact. And she undoes the zipper, tucks her thumbs under the waistband, and scoots the trousers down. She discards them on the floor. All the while, her expression is uncaring, yet serious and determined, still with a flare of attitude.

Villanelle just watches. Her mouth forms a small “O”. When Eve is finished, Villanelle takes slow steps towards her. Her hands are in her pockets.

“Couldn’t let go of the bus, could you?” Villanelle asks, narrowing her eyes. “You just had to have more of me?” Villanelle taps her foot against the bedframe. And then her eyes run over the sight of Eve Polastri in long socks, a turtleneck, a cardigan, plain underwear, and no trousers.

Eve remains stark. “Take your clothes off,” she tells Villanelle, simply. She is halfway to calling Villanelle an “arsehole” because she doesn’t care to be teased for how she needs to fuck Villanelle—dirty and quick, she hopes, and then forgotten, afterwards. (Probably.)

Eve doesn’t warm up; she doesn’t smile or soften or _anything_. She is still just blankly staring, so Villanelle gives in. She pulls her v-neck shirt up and off, dropping it by her feet. And then she yanks her trousers down and tosses them over onto Eve’s. And then she raises both of her hands by her sides as if to say, “You happy, now?”

Eve pulls her cardigan off and sets it down on the bed, leaving her turtleneck on. And then she pulls her underwear down and tosses them over the edge, with everything else, and shamelessly spreads her legs and pets her own inner thigh.

“Touch me,” Eve commands, quietly. Unchanged.

Villanelle throws her underwear off. Throws her bra off. And when _still_ no reaction comes from Eve—when Eve simply stares up at her with nearly black eyes and pets at her own leg—Villanelle takes her hair out of its low bun with one, single pull on the hair tie. And she shakes her head, fanning her golden hair everywhere. And she raises her eyebrows at Eve. Eve stares up at her blankly, even still, so Villanelle climbs up onto the bed and sits on her knees, facing Eve.

“Touch me,” Eve says again, low and quiet. She splays her fingers so they decorate her center in a “V” shape.

Villanelle accepts that it’s not going to be soft and passionate; rather, it will be quick and goal-driven. But she leans up and over Eve and sinks her lips to a vulnerable place: under Eve’s jaw, against her neck.

Eve sighs and leans away from the touch, and then into it.

And Villanelle sucks, there, leaving a mark.

“ _Touch . . . Me,_ ” Eve commands, again, when the moment passes. She watches Villanelle’s eyes leave hers and trail down, down, down. And she prepares herself for the sensation of fingers, maybe a mouth.

Villanelle sits herself back, instead, over Eve. She presses her bare center to Eve’s.

Eve gasps and her eyebrows raise in a mix of surprise and confusion.

And then Villanelle starts to move. Back and forth, bodies pressing together. Slick and calculated.

“ _Oh_!” Eve moans, and her hand finds Villanelle’s thigh, and she hangs on. The sensation is unlike anything she could ever imagine.

Villanelle picks up her pace and ensures that she and Eve are both getting friction, where they need it.

Eve’s expression melts completely, when Villanelle grazes against her clit. Her jaw falls slack. And when Villanelle grunts, Eve lets an unexpectedly high-pitched “ _Oh, baby_ ,” fall from her lips.

Villanelle gasps, meeting Eve’s eyes and smirking. “So, now I am ‘baby’?” Villanelle asks, satisfied.

“No, I didn’t—No, I—” Eve struggles, trying to defend herself.

Villanelle’s face falls and she lifts herself up and off of Eve. She watches Eve buck her hips, beneath her, trying to follow.

“ _Please_ —” Eve starts, and she clenches her legs together and they fall back open. And all she cares about is getting _that feeling_ back.

“Say it again.”

“I didn’t _mean_ to—”

And Villanelle is letting herself off of the edge of the bed, looking at the clothes that are scattered on the floor.

Eve leaps out of the bed and grabs Villanelle’s arm, pleading, “Please don’t go,” and “ _Please_ , I need it,” and when Villanelle looks at her emptily, she satisfies with, “ _Baby,_ _please_.”

Villanelle decides, then, to stay. She tucks her finger under the collar of Eve’s turtleneck and gets her face close to Eve’s. “ _Take your shirt off_ ,” she says.

Eve climbs back onto the bed and lays herself down, and only then does she pull the green turtleneck up and over and off, in one motion. And then, she is lightly tracing her breasts with her fingertips. And her hips roll a little, on their own.

Villanelle finds herself beside Eve, on her knees, again. “What do you want?” she asks, and she licks her middle finger.

“Like before?” Eve suggests, breathily.

“You mean . . .?” and she looks inquisitive, confused.

But Eve is wrapping her arms around the backs of her own knees, pulling her own legs back.

Villanelle can’t argue the fact that that’s how Eve wants it, so she leans up and over Eve, again, sitting herself back down, against Eve. And slowly, she starts to move. She recommits herself to the balancing act.

“ _Oh_!” Eve moans, again, because it’s achingly good, from this angle. “ _Don’t stop_!” she whines, high and needy. And her gasp that follows is broken.

“God, you’re so wet,” Villanelle says. She can’t help but look down, fascinated, while she brings Eve and herself along. She leans on her strong arms.

“No . . . No, that’s you,” Eve argues.

Before Eve is even prepared, Villanelle swipes at Eve’s entrance, retrieving a _dripping_ wet finger, afterwards.

“It’s you,” Villanelle says, finitely. And then she pops her fingertip into her mouth, quickly, so she can set her arm back down and balance herself better.

“ _You feel so good_ ,” Eve moans, as Villanelle goes a little bit faster and harder.

“You don’t want me to fuck you? You just want to do this?” Villanelle asks. She dips her thumb in at the end of Eve’s pubic bone, which effectively opens and exposes Eve.

“No. N-N—oh _fuck_ , Ville!” and Eve could cry, it feels so good: slick skin against slick skin. “Keep going, just like that. I need you right there!”

Villanelle takes her chances, kissing Eve once, deeply. And she presses her forehead to Eve’s and looks back down at everything that is happening. She pants for air.

“ _Eve_ ,” Villanelle says, “I need you to finish, soon. Or else I will, and it’ll be . . .” (“over,” she should say).

Eve only whimpers.

“You close?” Villanelle asks. She’s concerned, now.

Eve shakes her head “no”. Her breath hitches. Villanelle moves warm and fast against her clit, but she needs to keep going.

Villanelle quickly decides to push her finger into Eve’s entrance and shakily demands, “You need to _move_.”

So, Eve rolls her hips up and down, and she and Villanelle fall into a rhythm for the finger to move in and out of her, and the rhythm of their bodies against each other is totally different.

“ _Oh m’god, baby, please!_ ” Eve wails, messily and desperately. “M-More, Ville. More!” and then, “ _Right there!_ ”

Eve is so close. Villanelle is closer, still, hanging onto the edge and trying not to cascade down—not without Eve. She can’t come by herself, when they’re doing this. And Villanelle’s eyes are screwed shut, and her forehead is lined with beads of sweat.

“ _Eve_ ,” Villanelle cries, like she needs to communicate something, urgently.

Eve hums and desperately waits to hear what’s coming next.

“You wish I—” Villanelle is cut off by her own pleasured squeal, as though she were in pain.

“What?” Eve cries, “What is it?!”

“You wish I was here!” Villanelle whines. “Admit it!”

“What do you . . .?” and her face falls. “No . . . _No_ , Villanelle!” Desperation sinks in, again. “I’m so _close_. Please, _please, . . ._ ” Eve whimpers, “ _Please, baby!”_ and then gasps. She becomes horribly worried. “I’m gonna— _I’m_ —"

**

Eve wakes up.

_“Admit it, Eve. You wish I was here.”_ And a pause. _“Admit it, Eve. You wish I was here_. _”_

Eve recognizes the sound of the heart-shaped voice box and locates something crushed underneath her left shoulder blade. She rolls over with a stifled “Ow!” and locates the hard plastic of the voice box, throwing it off of her bed, when she finds it.

She rubs her shoulder, regretting that she tried, once again, to sleep with the little heart tucked into her hand.

She knows herself better than that. She knows she flails in her sleep, that her own arms aren’t even safe beneath the weight of her sleeping body.

She curses, “Shit!” and then she lays flat on her back, grateful for the softness underneath her back.

_But then she feels it_. The pulsating ache between her legs.

She tucks her hand under the waistband of her sleep shorts and underwear. She is greeted with a pool of cool wetness. And she muffles her whine by biting down on her other hand, and she touches herself, the fantasy from her lifelike dream still fresh in her memory.


End file.
